Unpredictable
by taranoire
Summary: In the middle of a fight, things take an uncontrolled turn. Roy/Ed smut.


The sun was shining, his coffee was warm and appropriately sugared, and Roy was nearly getting to the point where he could enjoy his Tuesday morning. Then Edward walked in, and all of his pleasant meditation was shot to hell. Fullmetal had recently completely a mission in the south, and the higher-ups were none too pleased. It seemed that Edward had caused a laundry list of damage, and the citizens of the village were filing criminal charges - not against the hair-brained alchemist in prison, but the hair-brained alchemist lounging in front of Roy Mustang's desk.

"You're late," Roy observed.

"You're early," Ed rebutted.

"I arrive precisely when I mean to, which happens to be when I'm called to duty. You, on the other hand, could not maintain a sense of propriety even if your brother's life was at stake." He scratched a scrap document idly with his pen, watching as the swirling vortex of ink got darker and darker. "I received your mission report early last night."

Ed sat up to defend himself, thought better of it, and closed his mouth. He looked off to the side, pretty gold hair hiding his expression as if fulfilling a function. Roy started. Truth of the observation aside, he should not have made it. There were lines that needn't be crossed.

"And here I thought you would be an asset to my set of comrades," Roy said, letting an air of disappointment infect his tone. Edward, abandoned by his father and frequently abused, loathed when he caused disappointment in others. Roy used this against him, despite his best intentions. He wanted a sharp blade, not a dull knife, and if that meant further degradation, so be it. "As it turns out, you're merely a leech on our funding."

"You're not going to fire me, are you?" Ed asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Then, when Roy shook his head, narrowed his eyes to brilliant crescent suns. "If I'm such a pain in the ass, maybe you should think before you put us out there. We're not diplomats, Mustang, we're not trained to use anything but force."

"You will call me by my rank and my rank alone," Roy said, grip tightening around the pen. The ink was starting to weaken the paper. Another scratch and it tore straight through, heightening his frustration. "I am not your equal, Fullmetal. Not in any form. I am your superior, and you will relinquish whatever emotional sentiment you think you somehow share with me."

"Emotional sentiment? You wanna be my daddy or something, Mustang?"

Control. He needed control. He drew upon it, accumulated it, built it up, until there was a wall between him and whatever he felt for Ed. Not hatred, but anger. Not love, but amiable physicality. Oh, that was a wonderful way of putting it. Amiable physicality. Like dressed-up words could disguise the heavy heat in the air, or the harsh dialogue meant to disguise harsher sound. The building might have burned around them, but Roy would not let his concentration fail.

"You've never pulled rank on me," Ed snapped, getting to his feet. "That's not something you do. Half the time I call you by your last name and you don't bat a damn eyelash. So what's the difference between now and, say, two weeks ago?"

Roy threw down his pen, and then rubbed his eyes with both palms. Slowly. Easing out the tension. Gold had been branded into the darkness. "The difference is that two weeks ago you hadn't caused over ten million cenz in damage. Honestly, what went through your head? Why didn't you take out the assailant in less destructive ways?"

"You think I didn't go through the whole 'surrender-and-you-won't-get-shot' tirade?" Ed crossed his arms across his chest, as he did when he was pressed into a corner. Roy knew his tics. "Colonel, that kinda thing looks good on paper, but when a fucker's got a pair of transmutation circles on his palms that can blow your damn head up, you're not just gonna sit there and ask him to come quietly."

"I don't see how defending yourself involves flattening acres of public property!"

"Fuck you, you weren't even there!"

Sometimes, Roy desperately wished he were allowed to hurt Fullmetal. "I didn't need to be there. I heard enough from the men I sent to look after you, and even they were more accurate than your mess of a report."

Ed blanched, but his expression was fierce. "You've been tailing me, you bastard?

That splinter of control gave way, letting impassioned floodwaters leave their mark, and Roy allowed it. He swiped his hand violently, strewing a neat stack of papers all over the floor. Ed's eyes burned, didn't blink; he was angry, fists clenched, breaths that might have been pants forced out his nose.

"You don't have any idea, do you?" Roy spat, flat tone morphing into something altogether alien and fierce. He indicated the office, the window, the burning fields miles south that Ed had failed to save from collateral damage. He felt heat in his face, like the sun had baked it in August. "How much trouble I go through to keep you out of danger? How much I grind night after night, making sure the _bastards_ in the brass don't force you to shed blood?"

Ed's lips parted in a snarl. "You think I don't know that?" he demanded, yelling and thumping his automail fist on the desk. It nicked the polished grain, and Roy winced. "You think I don't know what the hell you do up here? You're a _dick_, Mustang, you're a fucking _dick_, but don't you dare ever think that me and Al don't know what you're risking."

"Oh, pardon me," Roy mocked, crossing his arms and trying to gain some semblance of dominance in this argument. It wasn't working. His volume was rising and there was a distinct tic in his cheek. "I wasn't aware of the fact, considering you _blew up_ public property and damaged thousands of kilograms of food. Under my command."

"It wasn't my fault!" Ed screeched, smacking a polished silver frame off his superior's desk. The ensuing sound of shattering glass made him freeze. He stared at his automail hand, then at the broken picture frame on the floor, then at Mustang's face.

Roy breathed deep. Counted to five. "Fight me."

"What?"

Roy reached across the desk, snatching Fullmetal by the collar of his vest with one hand and punching him hard with another. Ed gasped, head and gold hair whipping to the side from momentum. "Fight me!" Roy seethed in his ear.

And the boy obliged. He grabbed at Roy's captor arm, twisting it up and around, and pushed him away towards the window. He barreled around the desk, clapping his hands as he did so, but Roy was ready to dodge the slick whip of metal blade. He kicked Ed in the back of the flesh knee, sending him stumbling down, but the blond quickly enacted revenge with a swipe of his more dangerous arm.

It cut through the cloth of his uniform easily, but wasn't close enough to nick the skin. Roy easily twisted his fingers through the brat's tangled braid, wrapped it around his wrist and threw the boy against the wall, holding him up by his hair. "When I say _fight_ me, I don't mean kill me. Don't you know the rules of a spar?"

Ed spat at him, his flesh hand reaching up to try and disentangle Roy's hand from his hair. "Sorry, thought you knew how to defend yourself. Not so big without lackeys to back you up, are you?"

Roy kneed him in the stomach, making him wheeze and slump. The colonel let go of his hair, letting him fall to the floor, where Ed sat in a fowl stew of temperament. "Maybe you should learn to play by the rules. Might not have ended up with that body, otherwise."

Ed's eyes widened in his skull, and before Roy knew it, he was on the ground, with Ed straddling his hips and a barrage of punches rattling his chest. He scrambled for Ed's wrists, caught one, but Ed wrenched it out of his grasp and slapped him for good measure.

Roy panicked, got lost in the moment, grabbed the back of his head and forced him down.

And he was kissing him. Rough, hard, and deep. He swallowed the anger, and it tasted like fire, and air, and earth. He bit and he fought and ground, edging his tongue and his mouth in a struggle for dominance. Ed flipped back and forth, from willing to struggling, at one moment pushing against the man's chest and at another groaning, moaning, shuddering as his lip was taken between teeth.

Roy felt hot. Too hot for this. He wasn't supposed to feel this way, not for Ed. In just a fraction of a moment, all that hatred and anger and frustration had melted into molten lust. A very different but equally dangerous sort of emotion.

His skin tingled from Ed's panting breaths. The blond's lips were ragged and raw, red as the sunset at tide, and his eyes glowed like incandescent bronze. He appeared both confused and enamored, letting his head fall so that his tired breathing tickled at the flesh just beneath Roy's collar. The man groaned at the sensation, hips working to bring him closer to the body above him.

They were both too full of adrenaline for this. They needed to separate. This was wrong. This was- Hawkeye was just outside, if she saw him so much as touch Ed, she would -

"Ed-"

The blond kissed him, chaste and simple, but then he started doing it repeatedly, down his jaw, against his neck, to his pulse where he sucked and moaned. Roy started to protest, but the sound died into a muffled sort of purr, his eyes closing of their own accord.

It was wet and it was hot and it was good.

The more Ed ground down, bit his neck, licked his ear, trailed sinfully soft and careful lips over his clothes and under his clothes and way deep down in his clothes, the more microscopic his paranoia became. Riza Hawkeye, court martial, the parental rage of Maes Hughes: drifting back into focus, then out, until they were as tender and as significant as dandelion puffs on a warm spring day.

There was cursing. There was hitting. Hair-pulling. Violent bursts of anger and lust. Somehow, he had Ed sitting up against the desk, leather pants pulled down by his ankles, and he was groaning and writhing and grinding up against him, dick restrained by too many layers and yet he could feel the heat and the lithe hardness of Ed's body. Ed was still, trembling, panting, lips flushed red from attention and the pulse of his own blood.

He whimpered between breaths, hair ripped from its tie, trying in his naiveté and inexperience to meet the older man's thrusts. When Roy bit the smooth, sweet expanse of exposed collarbone, he gasped and his body slid up the desk, golden eyes half-lidded from pleasure and want. Roy pushed down on his shoulders, letting the boy's mismatched hands meet him there, and then Ed looked straight at him (dear God, he was beautiful; had Roy really never noticed?) and the game started over.

"I fucking hate you," Ed muttered, a little half-moan humming from his throat.

Roy worked frantically at his own pants, cursing whoever designed the billowy, military-grade style. Someone hoping to preserve fraternization laws, perhaps. "Hate you, too," he said, smirking, his hair damp with sweat and his cock pulsing. When he freed himself from his pants, cold air was the first thought -

Then -

He was between Ed's thighs: his golden, tight thighs, their dicks grating alongside the other. Slick and hot. He groaned into the warm, sweet spot between Ed's neck and shoulder, thrusting and aching, his arm holding the blond tight against him. Ed had lassoed him in, holding him close by his neck, and his every breath drove the colonel crazy, thick and hot and needy. Soft on his ear.

"Mm, colonel," Ed whimpered, voice hitching higher. "Colonel, colonel, _fuck_!" His grip was tight, but shaky, and Roy could feel his abdomen trembling as it expanded and contracted when he took his breaths. His heat, his firm body, the smell of his hair (like sunflowers, like rain, with a touch of light oil and essence) drove Roy to thrust harder, to go faster, to relish the feeling of his slick, hot dick brushing Ed's sex.

It was so damn dirty, it was wrong, it was...oh, heaven forgive him, this was the best angry sex he'd ever had.

Ed's arms tightened around his neck, and a high-pitched moan escaped him. He was shuddering and breathing heavily, his golden head tossed back, sweat dripping down his neck, as he bit back a rather loud orgasm. The sight of his teeth on his bottom lip, the sound of his name spilling from Ed's lips, drove Roy to the edge of no return: he rode it out, breathing into Ed's neck, grinding without any rhythm.

"Shit, Ed," he gasped, as a second, unexpected wave washed over him, and he groaned as he stained his subordinate's body with more of his seed. He never thought he'd see the day when having Fullmetal drenched in his come would be appealing, but here it was, and he didn't regret any of it. "_Shit_, Ed."

Shit was right.

The aftermath sobered them. He realized, in an instant, how incriminating the scene would look (and rightly so) if anyone were to enter. A colonel and his underage major, covered in semen and naked. They hadn't even locked the door. Of course they hadn't; it had been a fight, nothing more, and it had turned into sex without either of them realizing it.

Ed's face was bright red, and he wasn't looking at him. "I'm sorry," he said at last, ignoring the slick spill of come coating his thighs and stomach as he tugged up his leather pants. It was awkward to do, sitting down, and Ed was still shaking despite himself, fumbling with the buttons and the zippers and the buckles.

Roy reached forward, tenderly, and helped him get dressed. Ed let him, which was surprising and disconcerting as well. When they were both fully clothed and clean, he walked the teenager to the door, making a mental note to disinfect the office before Hawkeye came to check in on him.

He held open the door for his major.

"This can't happen again," Roy said, forcing authority back into his sex-hoarse voice. He hesitated, knowing his other subordinates were within earshot. "We can't...fight like this anymore. We're too impulsive, and we let our anger get the best of us. You understand, Fullmetal, don't you?"

Ed looked at him, and Roy knew (god, he knew) that the kid understood far more than he wanted him to. "I know. I'm not your equal, and you're not mine." His breathtaking eyes swiveled to the floor, briefly, as if he too wished that things like laws and society could burn in a hole for all he cared.

Then there was a hint of a smile, a flash of tongue between used lips, and Ed left.


End file.
